


And the Ocean Rocks the Moon to Sleep

by JPeterson



Series: Silver Waters [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPeterson/pseuds/JPeterson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't unusual for Josephine Montilyet to have trouble sleeping. In fact, it felt as if the last, full night's rest she'd gotten had been the one immediately before leaving to join the newly formed Inquisition, all those months ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Ocean Rocks the Moon to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Only for femslash and mild angst. If I've missed anything, let me know.

It wasn't unusual for Josephine Montilyet to have trouble sleeping. In fact, it felt as if the last, full night's rest she'd gotten had been the one immediately before leaving to join the newly formed Inquisition, all those months ago. There was simply so much to _do_ that sleep seemed a luxury she could ill afford to indulge in; the fate of the world was, after all, resting on their shoulders. Or rather, it was resting on the shoulders of the Inquisitor, who – now that Morrigan had acquired the necessary knowledge – would undoubtedly be facing Corypheus himself in short order.

And that was the cause of Josephine's current insomnia, not to mention the reason for her sneaking through the halls of Skyhold in the middle of the night; carefully avoiding the patrolling guards and tugging her shawl closer around her body to ward off the chilly mountain air all the while. Because no matter how many times the other woman serenely accepted the burden; no matter how many times she _swore_ that she would be fine – that she would return _alive_ – the fact still remained that the Inquisitor had already come close to the brink of death several times. That Herald of Andraste or not – sent by the Maker or not – she could not possibly _know_ that she would survive.

Thus, Josephine was awake in spite of having actually retired hours ago, and now climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters in the fluttering light of the single candle that she carried. Because know as she might (hope as she might) that the Inquisitor was sound asleep, she knew deep down that there was only so much time left before that final confrontation would come; that only so many moments remained in which she could gaze upon that youthful face, study the slopes and angles of that lean form, feel the warm pulse of _vitality_ beneath that skin, and that too many of those moments would undoubtedly be lost to duty.

Some of them, at least, she could regain in this way, even if she would be the only one aware of it.

The Inquisitor's chamber was – predictably – dimly lit with both the silvery light of the waxing moon and the gilded glow of the lazily crackling fire, and Josephine paused at the top of the stairs for several heartbeats while she simply took in the sight that met her: Ellana, curled on her side in the safety of her bed with the colorful covers low enough to expose her shoulders to the night air as she rested; one arm tucked beneath her head and the other halfway extended across the surface of the duvet, and Josephine was struck all over again by how _young_ she looked like this; by how young she really _was_ to shoulder such responsibility, and yet she simply did it without a word of complaint.

_A halfway-pensive, halfway-confused look, and a cant of that head that set long strands of hair to falling over one eye and exposed the tip of a pointed ear. “Somebody has to.”_

She was, Josephine knew, the right choice, and possibly also the only _viable_ one, given how everything had begun. And yet, with every new challenge, every new risk, she wished fruitlessly that Master Tethras hadn't kept the Champion of Kirkwall so securely under wraps, since Hawke's leadership could easily have shifted Ellana a little more into the background, and a little further away from the looming danger. The Anchor, of course, meant that it wouldn't be far, but Ellana could potentially have been the _second_ target rather than the first, and that... that would have given Josephine herself infinitely more peace of mind.

The candle and its holder settled on a corner of the Inquisitor's desk with a muted little tap, and Josephine held her hair back with a careful hand as she leaned forward and blew it out with a soft exhalation. The combined glow of the moon and the fire was easily enough to see by, and she crossed over to the side of the bed with no more sound than that of her bare feet against the stone floors and the faint swish of the fabrics that covered her body. By the bedside that faced the stairs – the side, she assumed, on which Ellana usually rose – was a thick, soft rug that had been given to her by the grateful inhabitants of Sahrnia, and she knelt on that rug now while a hand of her own stole across the covers and carefully captured the one that was already resting there.

Ellana's entire body was almost impossibly slender when considering her prowess as a warrior, though there was no denying the finely corded muscle in even her lower arm; easily visible in the shifting shadows when her fingers at first twitched faintly in Josephine's grasp, and then curled easily around her own. They were long and soft, though they also held several callouses built from years of blade-work and who knew what else. They were warm in spite of the slight chill in the air, and Josephine held them gently between her own and closed her eyes when she felt the faint hum of life in their veins.

After Haven – after _everything_ – she knew well how little it would take to snuff that life out.

 _Maker, keep her safe_ . She was hardly even aware of the tear, really, that slipped from her eye when she brushed her lips over the closest knuckle and lingered there. _Keep her coming home to me._

The uneven breath she released was slow, but the hand in her own still twitched once more. Then, abruptly, it shifted until it was cradling her cheek, and when her eyes flew open in mild alarm, she found herself staring directly into alert, brilliant blue that had turned a muted purple in the firelight. As ever, there was no hiding from that gaze no matter how much effort she put into hastily reforming her usual expression, but instead of being met by questions – which she had halfway expected – those eyes showed no more than gentle understanding.

“Come here.” A request – not a command – with two arms now reaching out to her, and she could drown in those eyes; saw – in fact - nothing _but_ them as her shawl slid to the floor and she was enveloped in soft fabric and softer skin; in the warmth of closeness and _peace_ , and in the scents of fresh linens, sun-warmed moss and autumn breezes.

And oh, Heavens, but what if she lost this, Josephine wondered as she drew in a shuddering breath full of sleep-warm skin and the subtle hint of vandal arias that always seemed to cling to Ellana's hair. What if she was granted this wonderful, terrifying time only to have it ripped from her grasp just when she'd barely managed to understand what a gift it truly was? Helplessly, her eyes burned, and she pressed her face into the crook of a bare shoulder while a cheek came to rest at her temple, and tender fingers both cradled the back of her head and stroked over the length of her spine.

“Josephine, Josephine, Josephine...” Her name was little more than an aching whisper from Ellana's lips; warming the skin just over her ear as long arms pulled her impossibly closer and rocked her gently. “ _Ma vhenan_ , I wish I didn't worry you so much. Knowing that I do this to you hurts my soul.”

 _Then don't._ The words were on the tip of her tongue in an instant, but Josephine clenched her jaw and swallowed them back down, because that would _not_ be fair to Ellana. She couldn't ask her to deny the Inquisition for her sake; couldn't ask her to turn her back on saving Thedas simply to keep herself safe, and the foremost reason was the halfway thrilling, halfway heart-wrenching knowledge that Ellana just might _listen_.

“It's worth it,” she said instead, because that was undeniably true, and she shifted enough that she could see the flickering shadows caress that face; could watch her own fingers trace over a carefully curved cheekbone and the edge of a strong, but feminine jaw. “Just... please be careful, my darling. Because I swear to you that if I lose you to this, _I will find you_ – even if I have to walk through the Fade myself in order to do so.”

Definite surprise, now, in those eyes, and even that was a bit of an understatement. “J-- Wh--” Ellana's voice was faint and oddly winded - almost as if she'd taken a hit to the gut – and her gaze was just a little unfocused as she blinked rapidly. “I-- really don't want you to experience what the Fade is like,” she finally managed. “That... wasn't a pleasant time and--” A slight pause, and a distinct bob of her throat as she swallowed. “-- you are no warrior.”

Josephine didn't as much as let her gaze waver. “For that--” she intoned simply. “-- I will become one.”

For several heartbeats, the only sound was that of Ellana's strained breathing, and Josephine held that pained, searching gaze without blinking until those eyes slid shut and there was the low whisper of several words that she didn't understand and could barely even make out. The fingers that remained tangled in her hair were flexing over and over alongside the hand that had curled in the back of her shift, and while some deep, vital part of Josephine ached for the pain - for the _fear_ – that was so obvious in the tension of those exposed shoulders and the set line of that jaw, she refused to retract her words because she had spoken nothing but the truth.

“Well...” Ellana's voice – when it raised enough to be properly audible – was choked, but her breathing was evening out even as the tense jawline under Josephine's fingers started to relax. “Then I suppose I'd better take as many precautions as I can.”

“That's all I ask,” she promised, and pressed into those arms again; sighing when they closed tightly around her in return and she could hear the slowing of the other woman's racing heart. It was, perhaps, unfair of her to have brought this up; to have spoken a truth that was – in all honesty – more than a little cruel. But Ellana offered herself up so readily, and while Josephine admired that about her (at least when it didn't frustrate her almost to the point of pulling her own hair out), she needed her to consider that willingness to sacrifice on a larger scale; to realize what that sacrifice would mean to others.

Now, however, she consoled as best she could while the agonizingly taut body she was pressed against started to loosen. She traced her own fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Ellana's neck; moving her touch down along her spine and not intending to redirect it until she hit the restriction of her chest bindings. Only she... didn't. Her fingers slipped lower; between the gentle jut of shoulder blades and further towards the bottom of a now slowly moving ribcage without encountering anything other than smooth skin and the faint, occasional scar.

Inexplicably, her heart gave a little lurch, and when she settled a curious hand on a trim waist and felt the warm rush of even, almost somnolent breathing against the top of her own chest, there was nothing beneath her touch but _skin_ ; even when she hesitantly trailed her hand a little lower, onto the flare of a hipbone that was silken and _bare_ and, and--

– and she almost spat her brain out of her ears when it finally managed to catch up.

“Are you _naked?!_ ”

“Hmm?” A mild, almost lazy sound in the back of the other woman's throat, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of the arms that had curled around her back. “If I'd known to expect company, I would've dressed for it,” was the burred, only somewhat-awake rejoinder.

That meant 'yes', Josephine surmised, and felt her head all but literally start spinning as she now suddenly struggled with where to place her hands and remembering how to _breathe_ while something low in her gut tightened so abruptly that she actually – for a few, short moments – saw stars. The end result was a _most_ undignified sound that made her entire face flare up, and sent a soft chuckle rumbling below the skin her hand was resting on.

“Relax; I don't bite.” A smirk and a pause as those eyes opened halfway; followed by a flash of teeth in a positively wicked grin. “Unless you want me to.”

“ _Ellana._ ”

A laugh this time, instead of a chuckle; low and fond and filled with something that made those eyes sparkle just a little more in the dim light. Maker, at the rate her ears were burning, she worried that they were simply going to come right off (and wouldn't _that_ be a sight?), and she knew that her face was faring no better, because the fingers that stroked over her cheek actually felt pleasantly cool in comparison.

“You--” Soft lips briefly pressed against her own. “-- are--” A kiss to the tip of her nose this time, followed by a dip in the mattress and a shifting of the covers as Ellana rose onto an elbow, and Josephine hastily squeezed her eyes shut before her gaze could drop lower than the revealed sternum. “-- _adorable_.” The final kiss landed on her burning forehead, and after a little more shifting, she chanced a peek that revealed – from the edge of the covers upwards – no more than the tops of sun-bronzed shoulders, an unapologetically amused half-grin and a set of decidedly twinkling eyes.

“And you are thoroughly incorrigible,” she returned on the tail end of a sigh, because which one of them was supposedly older and had more experience in this sort of thing, again? Still, the easy playfulness soothed her, and she relaxed into their embrace while her fingers drew idle patterns over the dip of a spine that her hand covered. “I suppose that you are at least providing me with practice in keeping my reactions in check.”

The ribs under her arm moved in a silent chuckle. “Sorely needed practice, apparently,” was the teasing reply. “But it's nice to know that I'm good for something.”

“Aside from saving the world, of course,” Josephine commented, and gave the warm skin under her hand a little scratch.

“Mmhm.” A smile, and the very tip of a pink tongue poking out between even teeth. “Aside from that.”

“Brat.” She was smiling too, however; right into those eyes as their noses brushed and Ellana's gentle breathing warmed her face.

“ _Inquisitor_ Brat, if you don-- mm.” The low, approving sound that escaped into her own mouth was enough to send a shiver down Josephine's spine, because while they had certainly kissed before, this was the first time where they had been separated only by a _single layer of fabric_ while doing so, and though the contact was both slow and light, that lack of barriers was something that she was somehow extremely aware of.

There was so much _skin_ under her hands; warm, soft as the finest silk and marred by only the faintest, barest number of blemishes ( _Only bad fighters have many scars, Ambassador)_ , and when she shifted while Ellana tugged, their legs entwined and _that_ was nothing _but_ skin and she suddenly found herself on top of this... this _unreasonably attractive_ woman who really was entirely too good at dispelling her higher consciousness with no more than a quirk of her lips.

When they parted – by however little – she found herself hovering inches from that _face_ ; cast halfway in the shifting shadows created by the way in which her own hair curtained around them. And _Maker, those eyes_... those eyes were half-lidded and dilated and so _intense,_ there were fingers clenching tightly in the cloth that covered her own frame, and the diaphragm below her was moving unusually fast for someone of Ellana's level of physical fitness.

 _I caused that_ . The realization hit her like a blow to the head and made her suck in a long, uneven breath as a jolt of sheer, dizzying _want_ shot down the length of her spine. Her entire body tensed and _flared_ , and while those hands pulled her closer and the small amount of space between them all but crackled with energy as they breathed the same air in wavering gulps, this... this really wasn't the time, given the energy they _both_ needed during daylight hours.

“Maferath's codpiece.” Josephine closed her eyes as their foreheads touched, but smiled at the short, surprised burst of laughter that made its way through the sturdy frame underneath her. “I don't suppose you'd consider throwing a scroll case or somesuch at Corypheus if I gave you one?”

“ _Emma lath,_ I would do anything you ask of me,” was the tender reply, with gentle hands cupping her face and smiling lips brushing against her own. “Including – but not limited to – beaning maniacal, darkspawn magisters in the face with your writing implements if you so desire.” Slowly, they moved until they were resting on their sides again, and there were long fingers tangling in her hair and longer legs still entwined with her own. “Really, with _that_ face, anything I do to it could only be an improvement.”

Then there was just laughter, and light, and love.

 


End file.
